“Call me paranoid,” he says, “but I thought you’d be recording my confession. Who else knows you’re here? Have you got your little director friend hiding in the closet?”

He knows we don’t, because he’s been watching on his phone, but he still looks worried for a second, the sneer slipping just long enough to show something worse underneath.

He can pretend all he wants, but I know he’s terrified of being caught, no matter what he’s done to protect himself. And that scares me even more, because how far will he go to stay free?

He needs to think we wouldn’t be stupid enough to break into his house without telling someone.

“The police are on their way,” I lie.

He stares at me and says, “I don’t think so. They’re too busy talking to that poor teacher of yours. How does it feel to have an innocent man arrested, Jessica?”

But something in his eyes suggests he’s uncertain, and that’s what I focus on.

He starts pacing the room, then takes the SIM card from his phone and snaps it.

When I think he’s not listening, I lean toward Jamie and whisper, “I’m sorry.”

Mr. Farrell yanks me up and pushes me on the bed. “Do not talk to each other,” he says. “It’s time to end this.”

I imagine every murder is perfectly planned. It has to be for him to always escape unnoticed. He can’t kill us here in his stepdaughter’s bedroom and expect to keep living his lie. But he can’t let us leave.

This might not be his usual trap, but it’s still a trap.

We need to figure out how to escape before he figures out how to kill us.

Chapter 134

Mr. Farrell grabs Jamie and says, “If you scream, I’ll kill him.”

He forces Jamie out of the room and closes the door, and when I turn the handle, it won’t budge.

I think of the dents in Bernie’s bedroom door. What must it be like living with him? Does she know what he is? Or is he different types of evil in different situations?

There are clues all over the place if you look hard enough, and I wonder if Clara suffers the way her sister does.

Her room looked normal, messy like mine, more clothes on the floor than in the closet, the bulletin board above her desk covered in Post-its and selfies. But Bernie’s room is the complete opposite.

I hear something downstairs and put my ear to the floor, trying to figure out what’s going on. Then I move to the door and listen, praying he isn’t hurting Jamie.